Barabell
by WillowwindTheCat
Summary: Barabell is a vixen who was raised by a hedgehog maiden. Her parents had died by their own kind. But even under the influence of good woodlanders rather than vermin, Barabell's fox instincts keep getting her into trouble. But maybe those instincts will be what saves her, Mossflower, and Redwall alike. This is Barabell's story. Takes place years after the last "Redwall" book.
1. Prologue

It had been a long night for Agatha. The maiden hedgehog sat in a wicker rocking chair, letting the furniture send her back and forth in a repetitive, yet soothing fashion. It almost made the hedgehog fall asleep. Almost. While Agatha was very tired, she couldn't rest until the young one resting in her lap had done so first. Agatha gazed down at the newborn. It wasn't her kind. No, in fact it was something the hedgehog never thought she, a simple forest creature, would encounter: a fox cub.

The cub sucked slowly on the nipple of her bottle, drinking the last drops of warm milk inside of it. When the milk was gone, Agatha set the bottle down on an elm table, and cradled the cub.

"Are you full, baby Barabell?" the hedgehog asked. She chuckled when the young one burped in reply. "That's good. Now, you must sleep."

Agatha slowed her rocking to a stop, and got up from the chair. She walked through her home, and stopped before an old cradle. So many years had passed since Agatha had used this cradle; her own young were grown and gone. Now, however, it would be used again. The hedgehog maiden rested little Barabell in the cradle. A smile fell upon Agatha's face when she saw Barabell already fast asleep.

"Goodnight, my baby Barabell."

Agatha glanced out of her window. Even in the darkness of Mossflower Woods, she could still see the two graves she had buried earlier that day. The maiden frowned.

"And, farewell, poor foxes."


	2. Chapter 1

1

A three-year-old Barabell fidgeted impatiently as Agatha ran a brush through her fur. She looked down at her bushy tail. Agatha had stood on it to keep the vixen from trying to run off. Grooming was never a thing Barabell liked, and today was no exception. But it was a must; tonight was the Abbot's Golden Jubilee at Redwall Abbey. All of Mossflower was invited, so Barabell had to look her best.

"Ow!" the vixen yelped. "Mum! That hurt!"

"I'm sorry, Barabell," replied the hedgehog maiden. "But I must do something about your fur. It's always so untamed and shaggy. It takes a lot of force to straighten it out, you know."

"Why can't I just go to the Jubilee the way I am?" asked Barabell.

"It's undignified, my child. Now, take a deep breath for me. This might hurt a wee bit…"

"Ouch!"

"…Sorry…"

Barabell huffed, annoyed.

"Why do we have to be dignified?" she asked.

"Redwall is a dignified place," explained Agatha. "They are generous mice who have allowed us in the forest to join them in a magnificent feast. They shall give us entertainment and joy. We owe it to them by being presentable and dignified as well. There. Now you look like a young foxmaiden."

Agatha pulled her foot from Barabell's tail. Eagerly, Barabell prepared to rush off, but her tail was suddenly gripped by the hedgehog's forepaw. The vixen looked back at her adopted mother with a look of confusion. Agatha wagged the brush in her paw.

"Not so fast, my dear. Your tail is next."

"Oh, come on, Mum!"

Agatha chuckled.

"Here," she began. "While I'm grooming your tail, I'll give you something to occupy yourself with."

Agatha got up from her chair, and walked to a trunk in a lonely little corner of her home. She rummaged around in the trunk before pulling out a piece of bark and a charcoal pencil. She gave these items to the young vixen.

"Draw something, Barabell," the hedgehog suggested as she sat back in her chair.

Barabell picked up the charcoal, and tapped her chin in thought. What to draw? The vixen wasn't sure. Her pale yellow eyes looked around, but nothing in Agatha's home really stuck out. But then, Barabell got an idea.

"Mum?" she started. "What does the "Aboot" look like?"

"The Abbot, you mean?" corrected Agatha. "Well, he's a mouse, for starters."

"Can you tell me about how he looks?"

"Of course. Abbot Nicholas is a grey mouse, with the longest whiskers I've ever seen. He's quite handsome, really. In his prime, he was a muscular mouse, and he worked as a sort of muscleman when the Badgermother wasn't around. Those muscles are gone now, but he's still quite large. Oh, and he also wears his brown Abbot's habit."

As Agatha spoke, Barabell put her drawing skills to the test by trying to draw the Abbot. The young fox bit her lip as she sketched. She had never seen the Abbot, and had only seen mice a few times. But she used her imagination to help her.

* * *

"Oh! Barabell! What a nice drawing!"

The vixen had shown her adopted mother her drawing after grooming was complete. Barabell had drawn the Abbot big, like Agatha said he was (parts of him were cut off by the edges of the paper because of how big Barabell had drawn him). His whiskers were wobbly, and his habit looked more like a dress. Overall, it had the air of a dibbun's drawing.

"Thank you, Mum," said Barabell sheepishly. "Do you really like it?"

"I do, my dear," replied the hedgehog. "Oh, I have an idea. Why don't you give the Abbot this drawing at his Jubilee? Others will be bringing him gifts. This will also be a great gift."

Barabell's eyes brightened, and she wagged her bushy tail.

"Ok, Mum," she said. "I'll do it. I bet he's gonna like it, too."

Agatha nodded.

"Can we go now, Mum? I want to give the "Aboot" my drawing now."

"Not quite yet, my dear," Agatha replied. "It's not evening yet. But we can use this time to get dressed. I can't wait to see you in your Jubilee outfit. I made it myself."

With an excited hop in her step, Agatha pulled the outfit in question from that lonely little trunk in that lonely little corner. She held it up proudly. It was a little, light blue dress made of cotton, along with a matching ribbon for Barabell's tail. Barabell looked at it and flinched in disgust. She didn't want to wear something so…so…feminine…

"Do I have to wear _that_?" the vixen whined.

Agatha gave Barabell a stern look.

"Of course you do, Barabell," replied. "Now, come over here, and let's put this on you."

As the young fox slowly walked towards her foster mother, she continued to complain.

"But all the boys will laugh at me!"

"Nonsense. Those boys will be nice, or my name isn't Agatha Prickle."

Barabell reluctantly slipped the dress over her head, while Agatha tied the ribbon around her tail. When the outfit was on, Barabell looked at herself. She certainly looked like a civilized creature. It felt odd…Agatha, on the other hand, was pleased.

"Oh, my dear, Barabell," she cooed. "You look so pretty."

"…Thanks, Mum…"

Barabell crossed her arms and flattened her ears against her skull. This would be a long and awkward night…


	3. Chapter 2

2

* * *

Lord Hawkin Icesplinter was angry.

The lord was already in a bad mood. Tonight was a particularly cold night. The blizzards on Mount Jicidus were normally nightmares to live through, but tonight, they grew a lot colder, if that was even possible. But to be woken up from a decent slumber and forced to walk on a freezing, marble floor, all because of a criminal? Someone was going to die tonight.

The snow-white fox wore a blue robe made of fine silk, and his silver crown rested atop his head. He sat up tall on his throne and had a face of stone. At his feet was a shivering weasel. Two rat guards stood beside the weasel, their spears pointed down on him.

"Your Coldness," one rat began. "One of the evening patrols spotted this weasel," he paused to aim a kick at the creature in question's head. "Trying to climb down the mountain."

Lord Hawkin's pale eyes glared down at the weasel. The weasel wanted mercy; the arctic fox knew this already. But Lord Hawkin was not a merciful beast.

"Explain yourself," the lord ordered gruffly.

"Oh, y-yes, of c-course, Your Coldness," the weasel stuttered, obviously trying to make up a lie. "I was jus'…I was jus' goin' down to, uh, get out of the blizzard! Yes, that's it! It's so cold up here on the mountaintop, so I t'ought it would be warmer at the bottom of the mountain. Nothing wrong with that, right?"

The white fox smirked.

"Oh, yes," he said, feigning kindness with his voice. "I understand. It's very cold up here. You may not see it, but I'm shivering in my throne right now. Yes, you had every reason for leaving the mountain."

The rat guards glanced at each other, puzzled. This wasn't their lord. He'd never act like this. Lord Hawkin suddenly beckoned the weasel to him, and the weasel obeyed, having no choice. Lord Hawkin leaned forward in his throne, his nose almost touching the weasel's.

"But, here's the problem, my friend," continued the fox, his voice now sinister. "I don't give a blind mouse's tail if it's cold up here. My law is that no one leaves this mountain unless I give the word. I don't believe I've given you permission to leave my kingdom. Am I wrong?"

The weasel swallowed.

"N-No, Your Coldness," he whispered.

Lord Hawkin sat back, looking at his rat guards.

"Whitepaws, Dirtface," he began. "Bring me my collection."

It was the rats' turn to shiver.

"Y-Yes, Your C-C-Coldness," they replied, before walking off. Quickly, they returned with a wooden box, which they presented to their lord.

Lord Hawkin took the box, and opened it. In the box were many small, glass bottles, each holding a liquid of some sort, as well as many clumps of dried herbs and berries. Lord Hawkin picked up a bottle holding a clear liquid, and a pinch of herbs.

"Mmm," the fox said with a pleased smile. "My favorites."

Whitepaws, Dirtface, and the weasel watched in silent horror as their lord opened the bottle, and held the herbs over the bottle's mouth. He glanced up at his guards.

"You both may want to step back," he warned.

The rats quickly did so. The weasel let out a small whimper, knowing that his time was up. The herbs were dropped into the bottle, and the reaction caused a mass of white smoke to form. Lord Hawkin blew on the smoke, directing it towards the unfortunate weasel. The weasel cried as the smoke touched his skin, instantly burning him. The screams grew louder and louder, as the smoke overwhelmed him. The lord watched in boredom, while the rat guards watched in terror. After a while, the smoke dispersed. All that was left of the weasel was his bones, were still disintegrating. The white fox addressed his shaken-up guards.

"Clean this mess up," he ordered. "And put my collection back in its chamber. I'm going back to bed."

Setting down the wooden box on his throne, the lord prepared to walk back to his room. But he stopped. Standing at the entrance of his throne room was a young dibbun fox. This was the Icesplinter Clan's heir, Shade. He stared at his father with wide eyes. His innocence had been lost. He had seen an execution.


	4. Chapter 3

(A/N: I recently realized that the way dibbuns are aged works differently in the books than in real life children. I referred to Barabell as being three years old in the first chapter. That was because I had converted her to human years. In the Redwall world, she's about a few seasons old; we'll say 5 and a half.)

* * *

3

* * *

The sight of Redwall Abbey took Barabell's breath away. The young vixen and her adopted mother had arrived at the Abbey just as the sun was beginning to set. Barabell looked around, and saw many other creatures of all shapes and sizes. But not only was she staring at the other creatures, Barabell was also being stared at. Many of the guests murmured to each other in surprise and confusion. What on Earth was a fox doing at Redwall Abbey amongst the goodbeasts? Unbeknownst to Barabell, Agatha glanced at her fellow goodbeasts.

"Please," she prayed mentally. "Let this night go well."

Barabell and Agatha entered the great Abbey and walked down the Great Hall. Barabell paused when she saw the Great Tapestry that hung from the wall.

"Mum, look," the dibbun said, pointing to the tapestry with her paw. "What's that?"

Agatha knelt beside Barabell, and gazed at what Barabell had been pointing at. A smile appeared on her muzzle.

"Oh, that's the Great Tapestry," the hedgehog maiden explained. "Do you see that mouse up there? That's the old hero, Martin the Warrior. He existed long before our time, and protected Redwall. Many warriors followed in his pawsteps. But so many years have passed since the death of the last warrior. Things have been so peaceful, that the idea of a warrior had faded in the minds of the Abbey mice. But Martin's sword still remains here at Redwall for when the new warrior comes."

Barabell had stopped listening to Agatha around the moment she began talking about the other warriors. Not that she didn't find Agatha's talking boring, but rather, she had noticed something interesting about the tapestry.

"Mum," she began. "What are those things running from Martin? They look like me. Are they foxes?"

Agatha hesitated. This was very touchy territory the dibbun was treading on.

"Well…yes, Barabell, they are foxes."

"Does Martin hate foxes?"

"Well…" Agatha struggled to find an appropriate answer. "Well, no. He just hates what foxes and other vermin do to him and his fellow goodbeasts."

Barabell didn't reply, but simply stared at Martin, a burning hatred growing inside her.

"_Vermin am I?_" she thought. "_Fine. I didn't like you anyway_."

She walked away, the lashing of her tail proving to Agatha that she had annoyed the dibbun. With a sigh, the hedgehog maiden followed her. It wasn't long before they both entered Cavern Hole. A great wooden table rested there, with the Mossflower and Redwall beasts sitting and conversing. Barabell looked around, and finally saw the huge, , grey-furred, brown-habit-wearing mouse that was Abbot Nicholas. Barabell's anger left her quickly as she remembered the gift she had brought for the Abbot. She tugged Agatha's dress.

"Mummy, mummy! Can I go give the "Aboot" my gift now?"

Agatha, relieved to see Barabell back to her eager self, nodded.

"Of course, my dear," she said. "And it's pronounced, "Abbot", not "Aboot", alright?"

With a small nod, Barabell made her way through Cavern Hall. As she approached the Abbot, she saw other beats putting down gifts before him. A family of moles presented him with clay pottery, some squirrels gave him a whisker comb made of bark, and a lovely bouquet of forest flowers was brought to him by a young dormouse maiden. Barabell gripped her drawing in her paws, and stood before the mouse. Abbot Nicholas' eyes widened slightly. Like the other creatures, he too was surprised to see a fox in his Abbey. But, she seemed to be civilized and good, so Nicholas wouldn't deny her.

"Hello, young one," he greeted politely.

Barabell bowed politely, unable to speak before such a creature of power. The Abbot let out a low chuckle.

"Don't be afraid of me. Tell me, what's your name?"

"Barabell Prickle, Mr. Father "Aboot"…I mean, "Abbot"!"

"Nice to meet you, Barabell," the Abbot said. "Your surname sound familiar. Are you with a Ms. Agatha Prickle?"

Barabell nodded. Abbot Nicholas gazed off into the distance. Barabell assumed he was looking for Agatha.

"I see," murmured Abbot Nicholas. He looked back down at Barabell. "What are you holding there, young one."

Barabell glanced at the drawing in her paws, and gasped. She then presented it to the Abbot, and stepped back, waiting patiently for feedback. Abbot Nicholas looked at the drawing. His eyes widened, a smile formed on his muzzle, and he let out a merry laugh. Barabell tilted her head, unsure of what to make of this reaction. Abbot Nicholas set down the drawing in his lap and beamed at Barabell.

"My dear, I don't believe anyone's ever given me such a lovely gift," he said. "I'm flattered, honestly."

Barabell felt herself grow warm under her fur. She fiddled with her tail and smiled up at the Father sheepishly.

"Thank you, sir," she said softly.

"Of course, young one," the old mouse replied. "Now, go on back to Agatha. The festivities will begin shortly. I hope to see you again."

With a polite curtsy, Barabell returned to her adopted mother, who was sitting at the table and talking to the Abbey's cellerkeeper, a male hedgehog named Patrick.

"Come now, my lady," said Patrick with a flirtatious tone in his voice. "One drink of ale with cellerkeeper Patrick will do you some good."

"Oh, I don't know," replied Agatha. "I have a young one now. I don't want to her to pick up a bad habit."

"What's ale, Mum?" asked Barabell as she sat in the empty seat beside Agatha.

The hedgehog maiden jumped and faced Barabell, not realizing that she had been listening.

"Er…it's a grown-up's drink, sweetie," the hedgehog explained. "Don't worry about it. You aren't allowed to drink it, understood."

Barabell was puzzled, but nodded. Patrick managed to get a peek at Barabell, a curious look in his eyes.

"Well, 'ello there, little foxmaiden." He greeted. "The name's Patrick, Mr. Patrick to you."

"Hello, sir," replied Barabell with a nod.

"It's quite a sight to see a fox dibbun sitting amongst us like this. I remember a tale of a fox taking residence in the Abbey long ago. Poor old Brother Methuselah. The fox had mur-"

Patrick cut himself off when Agatha shot him a glare. Barabell had wished the cellerkeeper had continued, but it was clear that Agatha wouldn't have any of it.

"Er…" the male hedgehog quickly tried to change the subject. "Fancy a bit of strawberry cordial, Barabell? The young ones love it."

The vixen received a mug of the pink liquid. She took a curious sniff, and took a sip. The flavors danced on her tongue, and her eyes brightened.

"Mmm!" she purred, gulping down the drink. She set down the mug after drinking the cordial, and burped. "Pardon. May I have some more?"

"You should save room for the rest of the meal, my sweet," Agatha suggested. "It'll come soon. But first, look!"

Barabell obeyed, and her mouth fell open in awe when she saw an strangely dressed otter leaping over her head. Other others followed behind. Cheers of excitement came from the other creatures.

"Oh, Mum!" Barabell cried. "What are those?"

"Those are the otter acrobats," explained Agatha. "They perform every Jubilee. Look at them go!"

Barabell watched in interest as the otters leaped and gyrated all about Cavern Hole. It truly was a sight. When the performance had ended, Barabell clapped excitedly. Just then, there was the sound of a chair moving beside the vixen. Barabell turned her head, and felt her heart stop. Sitting down in the seat next to her was a large badgermaid. Barabell had never seen a badger before, and the sight was absolutely terrifying. It didn't help that the badger wouldn't stop giving her a dangerous glare. Barabell swallowed and looked down. She heard her adopted mother start a conversation with the badger.

"Hello, Whitney, my dear friend," Agatha had begun. "I see you've met my young one."

"Yes," replied Whitney, her voice low and hostile. "I have. And I'm keeping an eye on her, just so you know."

"I can see that." Agatha had grown a cautious tone in her voice.

"I hope you've told her about my little companion."

Barabell dared to look up, and flinched when she saw a large, wooden pallet in the badger's paw.

"That won't be necessary, thank you," Agatha reassured. "My Barabell is well-behaved, just like any dibbun."

"We shall see," Whitney said. "But I have my doubts. I never trust a vermin."

Whitney got up from her chair, and slowly walked off. The section of the table Barabell and Agatha sat at was filled with an awkward silence. Barabell let out a breath she had been holding for a while, and she felt a tear running down her face. Agatha rested a paw on her back.

"Barabell-"

The vixen pulled away, slipping under the table. Under the cover of the tablecloth, she allowed more tears of fear and angst seep from her eyes. Suddenly, there was a yank at her tail. Barabell quickly wiped her face, and turned to see a young red squirrel, a male, looking about her age. He wore a large pair of glasses that made his reddish-brown eyes appear much larger than normal.

"Wh-who are you?" Barabell sniffled.

"Name's Caleb, cousin," the squirrel introduced himself cheerfully. "Caleb Redtussle. Who might you be?'

"Barabell Prickle, replied the vixen softly. "And I don't think we're cousins…"

"You sure?" Caleb asked, tilting his head. "We both have the bushy tails, the red fur, and the skinny bodies. We've got to be related."

"I don't think so, sorry."

"Pity. I always wanted a relative."

"I'm your relative, nut-breath!"

The owner of the new voice appeared. It was a young squirrelmaid, who appeared a bit older than Caleb. Caleb stuck out his tongue.

"I mean, I've always wanted a GOOD relative."

The squirrelmaid returned the insulting gesture, and looked at Barabell.

"So you're the fox everyone's talking about, huh?" she said, an ugly sort of tone in her voice. "Humph. You smell like trouble. No wonder Whitney gave you that talkin' to."

"Bugger off, Rachelle," Caleb snapped. "No one asked for your attitude."

"This coming from the squirrel who thinks a fox is his cousin."

"Well, I didn't know, ok?"

Barabell had snuck away after Rachelle's insult. She didn't want to be bothered anymore. She returned to her head, where Agatha was waiting for her. She kissed the young one's head.

"My sweet," Agatha cooed. "I know you're upset. But you mustn't let it get in the way of your first Jubilee. Forget about what happened. Look, the food is arriving."

Barabell wished to ask Agatha why she was being treated the way she was. But the smell of food temporarily distracted her. The vixen decided to wait until they had gotten home to question her adopted mother.

Cavern Hole was rich in the scents of fruits, cheeses, and other sorts of smells, as pretty mousemaids from the Abbey kitchen set the large table with bowls and plates of food. Barabell watched with wide eyes as the mousemaids moved about quickly, covering every inch of the wooden table with something delectable. There were sandwiches and breads set down alongside soups and stews. Meals containing shrimp (courtesy of the local otters) caught the vixen's eye. Barabell's mouth began to water as her hunger began to take over. But then the finally came the main course of the feast: a large fish pulled from the Abbey pond's waters. Its scent overpowered all the other ones in Barabell's nose. Cavern Hole fell silent as the Father Abbot stood.

"Let us pray:

"Fur and whisker, tooth and claw,

All who enter by our door.

Nuts and herbs, leaves and fruits,

Berries, tubers, plants and roots,

Silver fish whose life we take

Only for a meal to make."

There was a loud, "Amen" by all in Cavern Hole.

Abbey's Head Cook, a tall, tan he-mouse named Friar Casker, stood before Abbot Nicholas, alongside the fish he had prepared. With a polite bow, he spoke in a soft, yet powerful voice.

"My dear Father Abbot," he began. "You've served the Abbey, and led us for many years. Please, allow me to repay you for your work, by serving you the first portion of my masterpiece, the "Honey-Glazed Perch"."

Speaking his piece (the most the normally quiet Friar had spoken all year), Casker took a plate, a fork, and a knife, cut a portion of fish (while the other creatures listened hungrily at the honey glaze's satisfying crackle), and served it to his Abbot. Abbot Nicholas nodded gratefully, and cut a piece of the fish. He brought the morsel to his lips, and ate it. He chewed for a while, before swallowing, letting out a sigh of content.

"Friar Casker, my friend," the Abbot began. "You have served many fine meals in your time. But none of them come close to being as delicious as this marvelous fish you've prepared. Please bless everyone in Cavern Hole with your dish."

There were cheers as the main course was finally served to everyone. Barabell excitedly watched as a portion of fish was given to her. The vixen grabbed some nut bread and butter, while Agatha placed some salad on her plate.

"Eat up, Barabell," Agatha chirped.


	5. Chapter 4

4

* * *

It was the wee hours of the morning. Lord Hawkin was busy at work. Luckily, it wasn't quite as cold at the moment. The white fox sat in the study room of his great palace. He studied a few maps of the land neighboring his mountain. Near him was a steaming cup of Mountain Herb Tea, which he periodically sipped. Just then, there was a knock at the door of his study. The lord's cold eyes glared at the door for a few minutes, before he got up, and opened the door.

"You've better have a damn good explanation as to why-"

Lord Hawkin stopped his berating when he realized it was his mate, Lady Tempa. His annoyance failed to go away however.

"Stupid wife," he spat. "What do you want?"

The vixen swallowed, and avoided eye contact when the white fox.

"Our son, Shade," she whispered. "He's come to our bedroom, crying. He says he wants to sleep with me instead of alone in his room."

"And what do you want me to do about that, vixen?"

"Talk to him, perhaps?" suggested Tempa. "He seems shaken up by something."

Lord Hawkin rubbed his temples with a paw.

"I see," he grumbled. "The boy saw the execution of the weasel from this morning. What the hell what he doing up anyway?"

"I wouldn't know, my love…"

"Of course you wouldn't, you stupid vixen. You soil the good name of foxes with stupidity like that."

"Forgive me, my lord," muttered Lady Tempa. "Er…Shade also mentioned a mouse in his dreams."

Lord Hawkin cocked a brow.

"A what?"

"A mouse, my love."

"What about a mouse?"

"Shade said that a warrior mouse came to him after he had the nightmare about the execution. The mouse called himself Martin the Warrior."

"Martin the Warrior?" repeated the lord. "Who in blistering blizzards is that supposed to be? Oh, right. You wouldn't know, you stupid girl."

The white fox's paw suddenly smacked the lady's face, sending her staggering back with a cry of pain.

"Get out of my sight, you wretch," Lord Hawkin snapped.

The vixen rushed off in a panic. The lord sighed, and returned to his work. He glanced at the maps.

"This mountain isn't enough to support my dream," he muttered to himself. "I must have more territory. Let's see…I'll have my soldiers go in all four directions, and take over the lands they come across."

He glanced at the maps again. He noticed one in particular. The map showed Mossflower woods, and a building labeled, "Redwall Abbey". The fox smirked.

"The east sounds promising. I've never had my own abbey before."

* * *

Shade rested in his mother's arms, sucking his little dewclaw. Lady Tempa stroked his little white head.

"Tell me about the mouse, Shade," she cooed. "Maybe you'll feel better if you do."

The pup stayed silent, his eyes staring wide into the distance. Lady Tempa sat the pup up in her lap, staring him in the eyes.

"Shade?" she beckoned. "Come on, talk to me."

"…His name is Martin…" Shade murmured, his voice raspy and soft.

"Yes, I know, but what else?"

"He told me…he told me…what I saw was…wrong…"

"The execution was wrong?" repeated the lady.

Shade nodded.

"…I see…Look, my dear. Don't let your father hear you say that."

"But the mouse-"

"Forget the mouse. I was just a dream, alright?"

Shade was quiet for a moment

"Yes, mama."


	6. Chapter 5

5

* * *

Barabell sat back in her seat, her belly full. She sighed happily.

"That was delicious," she purred.

"Yes, it was," Agatha agreed.

"I couldn't eat another bite," the vixen declared. Suddenly, she leaned forward, and plucked a small roll of nut and berry bread from the table. "Well…maybe one more…"

Agatha chuckled, and took a long swig of some Raslemon Swirl. Barabell nibbled the roll, but paused when she felt a tug at her tail. She looked down, and saw Caleb.

"Hey there, cousin," he greeted.

Barabell waved politely.

"Hi, there, Caleb," said the vixen softly. "Er…I'm pretty sure we're not cousins…"

"Oh, I know," the squirrel said. "I just like calling you cousin. You'd be a much better one than Rachelle, that's for sure."

"Rachelle's pretty mean," Barabell admitted. "I guess you can keep calling me that if you want. I don't mind."

"Thanks," said Caleb happily. "Hey, wanna see something nice?'

"Uh…sure?"

"Follow me."

Caleb rushed off excitedly. Barabell glanced at Agatha, who smiled and nodded to her approvingly.

"Stay out of trouble, my dear," Agatha warned.

"Yes, Mum," replied Barabell as she got up from the chair and rushed off into Great Hall. Little did she know that a nearby Rachelle had heard them, and slowly got up to tag along.

Barabell looked around, and saw a flash of red. She followed it. She found herself outside. She spotted Caleb standing near the gatehouse. She slowly approached him. When she got close enough, the young squirrel smiled eagerly at her.

"You ready?" he asked? When Barabell nodded, Caleb grabbed the gatehouse's door's handle. "Here we go."

The gatehouse's door opened with a long, high-pitched whine, revealing a dim room of clutter. Books lined the shelves and papers rested on tables. Barabell looked around in interest.

"What is this place?" she asked.

"This is the gatehouse," Caleb explained. "The recorder works here, writing down all the things that happen as the years go by. Oh, hold on a second."

Caleb stepped inside, and found some matches. He lit one of the candles set up in the gatehouse, and filled the room with light.

"Come in," he invited.

Barabell stepped inside, wondering just what was written in all the books. Caleb went to the gatehouse's fireplace, and stood on tiptoe. He pulled down a sword belt, and a shield baring the letter, "M". They were quite big for him, and he had to drag them over to Barabell.

"What's that?" asked the vixen.

"The sword and shield of Martin the Warrior," replied the squirrel. "Isn't it neat?"

Barabell's ears fell back, and she wrinkled her nose.

"Why should I care about those things?" she asked bitterly. "Martin the Warrior wouldn't want me near them. He doesn't like vermin like me."

Caleb tilted his head.

"Vermin?" he repeated. "Why would you call yourself that?"

"Because that's what she is," Rachelle's voice suddenly snapped as the squirrelmaid in question entered the gatehouse. She put her hands on her hips. "Why'd you bring her here anyway? She doesn't need to know about this stuff. She might just swipe something behind your back."

Barabell felt anger and pain forming inside her. She lowered her head, clinching her forepaws into fists. Caleb noticed this, and sharply reprimanded his cousin.

"Leave her alone, you bully," he snapped, his paws resting on his hips. "I can't wait until your mother's well. The sooner my parents take you back home, the better."

Rachelle flicked her tail irritably, giving Barabell a cold, dark glare.

"How can you defend a thief? Unlike you, I've actually read some of the records. Redwall mice have suffered because of many vermin, foxes included. She's going to be just like them. The Abbot should have her kicked out now."

While Rachelle spoke, Barabell grew more and more angry. Suddenly, she turned to the squirrelmaid, and charged at her with an angry yell. She knocked her down and began to scratch at her face with her claws.

"You bully!" Barabell roared. "Why won't you stop picking on me? I've never done anything to you!"

Rachelle fought back, slapping and kicking Barabell repeatedly.

"You brute," she spat. "I'm trying to keep the Abbey safe!"

Caleb, who was frozen in shock for a few seconds, quickly broke up the skirmish by stepping in and pushing the maiden creatures away from each other.

"Both of you stop!" he demanded. "What if the adults hear us? Whitney will be on us with that pallet faster than flies on old cheese." He shot a glare at Rachelle. "Go back inside."

Rachelle returned the glare, but nevertheless, obeyed her cousin's demand. Barabell slipped away during this, and went in deeper into the gatehouse. She softly cried underneath a table. Caleb followed her sobs and peered underneath the table at her.

"Cousin?' he began. "Cousin, don't cry…"

His words only made the vixen cry harder. Caleb crouched under the table, and gently patted her head.

"Who cares what Rachelle says?" he said, attempting to cheer her up. "She's just a brat. I tell you, back at my house, she's always bossing me around and calling me names just because she's the oldest. Can you believe that silliness?"

Barabell's crying quieted down to a few measly huffs.

"Why do they-huff, huff-hate me?"

"They're just afraid of the past, Barabell," explained Caleb.

"Huff, huff-I'm not-huff, huff-like other foxes…" said Barabell. "I'm a goodbeast."

"I know," agreed Caleb. "The others need to see that."

"Caleb! Vixen!"

An angry Whitney stuck her huge, striped head through the doorway of the gatehouse. Her blackish-brown eyes bore into the young pair. Caleb looked back with wide, fearful eyes. But then, he narrowed them.

"Rachelle…" he growled.

"Out here, now!" ordered the badger.

Returning the sword and shield to their proper place, Caleb led Barabell out of the gatehouse. Whitney towered over them, the large wooden pallet in her paws. Beside her was Agatha, who gazed at her young one in disbelief.

"Barabell," the hedgehog maiden whispered.

Barabell looked at the ground. Whitney snorted and folded her arms.

"Rachelle has informed me that you," here, she poked at Barabell's head with the pallet. "Attacked her. Is this true?"

Caleb, not wanting to see his friend in trouble, stepped forward.

"Ms. Whitney, ma'am," he began nervously. "You know how much Rachelle exaggerates things. What happened was-"

"I attacked her, ma'am," said Barabell suddenly, her head rising.

"Barabell?" Agatha said softly.

"Humph," grumbled Whitney. "I figured. I will not tolerate that behavior here." She glanced at Agatha. "Shall I, Ms. Prickle?'

Agatha nodded slightly, and looked away. Whitney roughly grabbed Barabell's arm, and sat down. Laying the vixen over her lap, she proceeded to whack her bottom with the pallet. With each blow, Barabell let out yelp after yelp after yelp. It all lasted for a minute or so, before Whiney released Barabell. The vixen shuffled off, rubbing her sore bottom. She hid behind Agatha, sniffling. Satisfied, Whitney lumbered back inside of the Abbey.

Barabell lied in bed, her tail exposed to the cool air inside of Agatha's tree stump. She cried, for the third time that night, into her pillow. Agatha sat by her bed, and stroked the dibbun's head.

"I know it hurts," the hedgehogmaid cooed. "But it was to teach you. We don't attack our fellow beasts, Barabell."

"Is it ok to insult others because of what they are?" asked a bitter Barabell.

"No, of course not. But…I see why you'd ask that. Look, my sweet. Foxes, rats, weasels, and the like have given good creatures hard times in the past. That's why they're called vermin. You're different. You were born and raised by a good creature instead of a bad one."

Barabell glanced up at her adopted mother.

"Would I have been bad if my real parents raised me?" she asked quietly.

"I…I don't know," the hedgehogmaid sighed. "I don't want to believe in a world where you grow up as a rotten child. You have potential to be good. All creatures do, really. I think some animals just like to be evil, and creatures like foxes and rats are the unlucky ones who are taken over by it. Barabell, no matter what happens, always try to do good. Understand?"

Barabell nodded.

"I'll try."


	7. Chapter 6

(A/N: I've also figured out that dibbuns are only a few months old and speak in a somewhat hard to understand language, unlike my characters. Also, the children in "Mattimeo" were about a year old or so. Since my children characters are 5 and a half seasons old, let's not consider them dibbuns, but as children close to being adolescents.)

* * *

6

The courtyard of Lord Hawkin's castle was filled with vermin, all of them wearing thick armor to protect them from the bitter cold. This was the army of the Mount Jicidus kingdom. There were white-furred ermines, rats, weasels, stoats, ferrets, and foxes, all of them used to the blizzards of the mountaintop. The vermin were standing in straight lines, all of them raising their right forepaws in clenched fists as a sign of loyalty to their arctic fox lord. The white fox himself was standing at the entrance of his palace, watching his army. Suddenly, he shouted aloud.

"Whitepaws, Dirtface, Morik, Kligg, and Girb," he called. "Come to me, now."

The four captains approached their lord. The weasel, Morik, received the map of the northern lands. Kligg, the fox, was given the map of the southern lands. Girb, the ermine, would travel to the west. Finally, were Whitepaws and Dirtface, whom Lord Hawkin gave the map of the lands to the east.

"Do not disappoint me," warned the lord. "I want a full report in a moon cycle's time. Send a bird back or something, I don't care how. But I want to know how much new territory you've all gotten for me." He glanced at the two rat captains. "I'm especially eager to have that abbey in my possession. I could make it my summerhouse when I've grown bored of the cold."

"Aye, sir," commented the foolish Morik, gazing into the sky dreamily. "That does sound quite nice."

The weasel was silenced by the murderous look in Lord Hawkin's eyes.

"Right," the white fox grumbled. "Go on, then."

The five captains addressed the army.

"Alright, you lot!" yowled Dirtface. "Split into four groups and wait for a captain to lead you down the mountain!"

The army obeyed, and soon, four large groups of vermin headed in different directions, beginning the great climb down Mount Jicidus. Hawkin stayed where he was until the courtyard was cleared out. Once he was alone, he walked up the marble steps, past the off-white pillars, and through the entrance of his palace. He made his way, slowly, to the dining room. A massive table (also crafted from marble) was piled with great meals. His wife and son were eating their breakfast already…well, Lady Tempa was, at least. Shade merely poked at his scrambled eggs and his ham was getting cold. Hawkin sat, eyeing his son.

"Shade," he began, a hint of curiosity in his voice. "Why aren't you eating?"

"Too tired, Father," replied the young fox softly. Lord Hawkin snorted as prepared his own meal.

"You're still thinking about that bloody mouse?" he angrily stuffed a forkful of eggs in his mouth. "Forget him, boy."

"I'm sorry, Father, but I can't," said Shade. He gazed up at his father with weary blue eyes. "Even when I'm awake, I can still hear his voice."

Hawkin stared at Shade, pondering how he wanted to feel about such a statement.

"What does the damn thing tell you?" he demanded.

Lady Tempa shot Shade a warning glance before the young one spoke.

"He says things about…evil…"

"What about evil, boy?"

"He says…an evil lurks about. He kept chanting that over and over again. I also saw some bones…the weasel's…"

"You should've stayed in bed," muttered Hawkin under his breath. "Drink some Chamomile tea before bed tonight, and you should be fine. Now eat up. You have a big day of learning to do."

"Yes, Father," Shade said. For some strange reason, he felt odd, and in a way that didn't feel good. The young fox attempted to eat, having nothing else to say.

* * *

"Move, you miserable pile of bones!" Whitepaws ordered his and Dirtface's quadrant of the army. "It'll take at least a week to get down this mountain. We can cut that time in half if you all weren't draggin' your paws! You there, ermine! Yes, you! Stop with that idle chat or I'll cut off your tongue!"

The small army of vermin climbed down as fast as they could, but the heavy armor made it difficult. Taking it off wasn't an option, however. It was far too cold at the top of Mount Jicidus. So, the vermin soldiers had no choice but to get an earful of Whitepaws' ranting. Along the way, the soldiers walked along a rather loose section of rock and snow on the mountain, as if something had moved it about. The soldiers took no notice of this, for Whitepaws wouldn't stop barking orders. Once the army had gone from that patch of loose rock and snow, some of it was pushed back. The head of a goat poked out of the small hole it had made, and sighed.

"They've gone, Nubbin," he stuttered.

Another voice, a lower one, replied from underground.

"Good," said the other voice. "Now we may be able to walk about in peace, if only for a while."

* * *

Shade sat quietly in his father's study. He usually went there once a day for his daily teachings, and today was no exception. But, today, however, a special lesson was going to be taught. Shade watched as a small group of Lord Hawkin's terrified slaves entered the study. Hawkin stood beside them, addressing his son.

"I suppose there's no hiding it any longer," the white fox began. "My son, I have a weapon. One that I alone created. I call this weapon, "the Deadly Combinations". Since you've seen this weapon in use last night, I suppose now I shall include it to your studies. I have high hopes that you may master it like I have."

Shade nodded to the slaves.

"Is that what they're here for?" he asked quietly.

Lord Hawkin nodded in response. Just then, he pulled a slave to him, a male dormouse. The dormouse shivered violently, knowing what the cruel lord would do to him. The lord reached for his box, which rested on a table near him. He pulled out the vial of clear liquid and the same herbs from the night prior. Hawkin returned to the dormouse.

"You've seen how this works," said the lord. "But I shall show you again, this time, going into more depth on what this actually is." He held up the vial. "This is an acid I made that, when combined with an herb, can secrete a smoke that uses the herb's side effects. I call it, "Smokemaker Acid". I have multiple other versions of it, to counter the make-up of other herbs, as you shall see." He then held up the herbs. "This is called Goldenseal, a mere irritant on its own. But put the two together and…" Lord Hawkin dropped the herbs into the vial, and the white smoke formed. Hawkin held the vial out and blew the smoke in the direction of the dormouse. Shade watched, horrified, as the dormouse was corroded to nothing but bones, all the while, screaming in agony.

"He's…he's gone…" gasped Shade fearfully.

"Yes, my son," Hawkin nodded. "He is. But that's not the only way I can kill."

His next victim was a mousemaid. The combination was a blue variant of Smokemaker acid and some extract of a bitter orange's peel. The mousemaid seemed to be fine at first, but then, she clutched her chest, and died of a sudden heart attack. A bankvole slave slipped into a coma due to a Lobelia and yellow Smokemaker acid combination. A combination of St. John's wort and green Smokemaker acid caused a rabbit slave to become extremely dizzy. Hawkin finished him off quickly with a dagger he had hidden beneath his robe. By then, Shade had had enough.

"Stop!" he moaned, traumatized. "Please! Just stop!" The young fox rushed out of the study in a panic.

Lord Hawkin watched after his son in confusion, but then growled, annoyed. He faced the remaining slaves, who were backed up in a corner and shivering. He snapped at them.

"Clean this mess up. If it's not done before I get back, you'll get the worst combination I have in my collection."

The slaves scrambled to obey their master. Lord Hawkin left them, wandering the corridors of his palace to find Shade. When the lord came across the entrance to the palace's garden, he heard heavy breathing.

"Why?" he heard Shade whimper. "Why would he do that? Maybe Martin was right. He is doing evil things. I don't want any part of that."

Hawkin entered the garden, looking around.

"Shade!" he called. "Come here!"

There was no reply, nor any sounds of pawsteps. Hawkin frowned.

"Shade! You will come to me, or be punished!"

Shade slowly appeared before his father, looking at the ground. Hawkin reached down and tilted his chin upward.

"Look at me, boy," he ordered. "No son of mine is going to look submissive. You must be dominant and proud."

Shade felt a tear run down his face.

"How can I?" asked the young one. "How can I when you're teaching me to be a murderer? And how could you do that to your servants?"

"They're slaves, boy. Their lives are at my disposal. And I am teaching you how to be a successful ruler. Murder is how you can be successful. There are those who want to take your power from you, and those who wrongfully challenge your authority. This is how we put them in their place. It's what we do."

"I don't want to do that, Father. I want to be merciful and kind, not hostile and bloodthirsty."

"It's in your nature, boy. It's in all of our natures. Foxes, rats, weasels, stoats, all of us. We "vermin", as those miserable little woodland folk call us, would never get anywhere if it wasn't for murder and cruelty. You see my slaves? They believe in goodness and kindness, yet they're serving me food and catering to our every whim. You see, Shade? Their "goodness" nonsense makes them weak. Our cruelty makes us strong. You will be like that, Shade, whether you like it or not."

Shade glared at his father, but this earned him a swift smack across the face.

"Make that face at me again, boy, and you'll be getting worse than that."


	8. Remake

Me: Hey guys. Yeah, I think I'll rewrite Barabell. It just doesn't have that "Jacques-esque" feel I want it to have. Plus, I need to make some corrections instead of lazily making changes in the middle of the story (my crappy computer shouldn't be an excuse). Anyone who was a fan of this story, just be patient. Barabell will return, right Barabell?

Barabell: Yes 'um.

Me: Good girl.

Barabell: ^.^


End file.
